iKnow iKnow
by FeigningInterest
Summary: I'm not her. I've come to accept this. It isn't easy, but it's there.


I read, reread and re-reread what I wrote for the stupid assignment our even stupider English teacher gave us last week. Today is the actual due date for the self-expression poem thing, and I'm surprised (along with everyone else) that I actually finished it on time.

It isn't good, by no means, but I actually tried - so it should be worth something close to a B.

I sit here, tapping my desk- a little bit nervous. There are only two more people left to read their poems. Fredward and me.

"Freddie, you're up next."

I watch Freddie from my seat. He looks like he does every other day; you know, like a complete mama's boy.

"Um. My poem's called _'Here I go'_

_When she trades her horns for a halo,_  
_I don't know what to say._  
_It's like trading in a brand new car,_  
_For a used SUV._  
_When she trades her punch for a handshake,_  
_I don't know what to do._  
_It's like trading in a new TV,_  
_For a broken MP3._  
_When she trades her jokes for a straight face,_  
_I don't know how to act._  
_It's like trading in a new watch,_  
_For a dirty pair of socks._  
_When she trades her brave face for a fresh set of tears,_  
_I don't know how to take it._  
_It's like trading in a lifetime,_  
_For just a few short miserable years._  
_I don't know who she is,_  
_Now that she's peeling off these layers._  
_I never thought she'd have a softer side,_  
_A side that makes it hard to hate her._  
_But here I go,_  
_Jumping to conclusions. _  
_Why? I don't know-_  
_But I'm lost in this illusion._  
_It's hard to understand,_  
_Even harder to explain._  
_Why she's stuck inside my head,_  
_And I can't find time to complain._

… The end. I guess."

A few people chuckle at Freddie's awkwardness and he rushes to his seat. I roll my eyes, even more nervous now than I had been before. I'm pretty sure these people are expecting mine to be crap. I mean, you know what I'm like. I'm not a smart kid who knows big words or anything. They expect me to go up there and talk about ham or napping. Some of them even think I'm gonna talk about me beating up Gibby or Fredward.

But I'm not.

"Sam." Ms. Too-Boring-To-Have-A-Boyfriend calls out, rather dryly. "Hurry up and ruin the poetry reading."

Thanks for the support, teach. How rude is that? And the school board says _I'm_ the one with the problem. Psssh.

Okay. I'm in front of everyone now, and the only person who _doesn't_ look bored is Carly.

"My poem thing's called _'Against This Better Judgment.'_

_I'm not her._  
_I've come to accept this._  
_It isn't easy, but it's there._  
_She's the one with the perfect skin,_  
_The perfect hair. _  
_I've always been plain, unhinged, and here._  
_She's always been intricate, unattainable, and fair._  
_I've lost to her._  
_Time and time again._  
_Yet I've only noticed now-_  
_I've only now figured this out._  
_My dearest, deepest friend _  
_Hasn't left me any room to pretend. _  
_No room to claim I'm equal,_  
_Just as docile, sweet as she._  
_No room to unravel layers-_  
_Layers less ruthless, broken, mean. _  
_I have little left to hope for,_  
_Little left to fight._  
_A nagging voice, wanting more._  
_Screaming me my rights._  
_For I've realized just how worthless_  
_My blistering tongue-in-cheek can be. _  
_I've realized just how haughty,_  
_These foul remarks may make me._  
_I'm giving you a token, a free reign,_  
_So go ahead and let free, break me._  
_The shards of my shattered pride,_  
_Are digging at my heart- adding to the pain, disdain. _  
_And other words that suit me. _  
"_You're not her," _  
_He said._  
"_I love her,"_  
_He said._  
_And I've come to accept this._  
_It isn't easy, but it's there…_"

I sigh out, not looking up. I walk back to my seat still looking at my shoes.

Everything's silent, no one's scraping their feet against the tiles or rustling their papers. No one's shifting in their seats or flipping through their books. I guess it was worse than I thought.

The bell rang suddenly, and I jumped almost completely out of my seat. I manage to gather my crap and get out without actually having to look at anyone.

"Sam! Wait up!"

"What's up, Carls?"

"iCarly rehearsal tonight, just making sure you didn't forget."

I blink a little irritated, "Um, I won't. It's been the same day every week for the past _four years_."

"Well, yeah. That's true."

I look Carly over, a keen little skepticism making its way into my expression. "Are you okay? You're acting all jumpy?"

"I'm fine," she says a little too fast.

I raise an eyebrow at my friend. "If you say so."

"Do you really think Sam's poem was about me?"

I look over at Carly. "I don't know. Maybe you should ask her."

"Yeah, that'll happen," she scoffs, and I roll my eyes. "That's almost as likely as you telling her your poem was about her."

I huff, "My poem was _not_ about Sam!"

"It was too, Freddie, and you know it."

I mumble to myself, knowing she's right. Life would be easier for me if Carly couldn't see through me so well. Most people may find that a symbol of caring, a good friend that knows when you're spouting crap. Not me, though. I find it annoying… and invasive.

"Do you like her?"

I turn away from my laptop, confused. "Do I like who?"

"Sam, you tard." Carly flops on the blue beanbag chairs, with one of those "I'm not giving up so you might as well tell me" looks.

"As a friend, yeah. As a person, maybe. But anything other than that… no way."

"Then why'd you write about her?"

I sigh my "shut up, please" sigh. "I don't know. So you could bother me to death about it."

"Sorry I'm late." I look over at Sam.

"You being on time would mean the end of the world's coming."

"Funny, Freddie. Very funny. Just like that shirt you're wearing."

Typical Sam.

"Don't make me get the squirt bottle!"

I look over at Carly and laugh. "You still have that thing?"

I look over to see Sam smiling too. I look back at Carly, and she winks at me. This means one thing. One really unpleasant thing.

She's up to something.

That's rarely ever good.

"Sam, that thing you wrote for English… who, um, was it about?"

I look over at Sam; she's a little taken aback by Carly's frankness. "I…I don't know."

"Carly thinks it's about her." I say, "I told her…"

"You told her what?" Sam's glaring daggers at me, and I don't even know what I did.

"I told her to ask you! Jeez, calm down."

"Oh," she says and I smirk at her as her cheeks turn pink. "It is about you. I mean the whole 'my dearest friend' should have given it away."

Carly stands up and walks towards Sam. "Then who's the _he_."

"What _he_?"

"The _he_ in your poem. You mentioned a he, and it sounded as if you like him."

"Oh, yeah. There's a _he_. But he doesn't like _me_; he likes _you_." Sam sighs and I watch her walk over to the red beanbag chair. "That's usually how it goes with me and guys. I like them, they like you."

"That's not true! Remember Jonah?"

Sam scoffs, "Remember Jonah trying to kiss you?"

Carly goes silent, and I guess it hits her as hard as it hit me. Sam really does come in second to Carly. I mean there's Jake, Zeke, Shane… even her former boyfriend Jonah.

"Well…" I look back over at Carly. "The guy you like now probably doesn't like me."

"Yeah, actually, he really likes you."

"Um…" I try to intervene, but Sam only interrupts me. I watch her stand and walk towards the door. "Where are you going?"

"To get some air." She moves a strand of hair out of her face, and I notice her eyes are shining.

She's _crying_.

Carly flops down on one of the beanbags again. "Ugh. Should I go talk to her?"

I shake my head. "No, you know what; I'll go talk to Sam."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Let's just hope she doesn't try and kill me."

"Hey." I jump a little at his voice.

"What is it, geek?"

"You looked upset when you walked out." Great. The last thing I needed was Freddie's sympathy.

"I'm fine," I lie.

"No you're not." I hear him crawl out the window and onto the fire escape. "I saw you crying."

"And you came to watch?"

"Of course not. I was hoping I could make you feel better."

"Why?" I look over at him, and he's looking down at me.

"Well… I like you."

A spark of hope flies through me. "Like a friend, right?"

"No. You're kinda crap as a friend. Well, at least to me anyway."

"Then how do you like me?" I look at him, confused. He can't be getting at what I hope he's getting at.

I watch him smile at me, scooting closer. "Remember that time in the ninth grade? We were both sitting here complaining about not having kissed anyone."

I nod, still confused.

"Do you remember the kiss?"

I feel myself blush, "Yeah…"

"_That's_ how I like you."

I tilt my head to the side, still not getting his point. "You 'kiss me' like me?"

Wait. He 'kiss me' likes me. As in, he 'likes me' likes me. Wow, that sounds complicated. And very tweeny.

"Mhmm."

I can feel my smile growing wider. He likes _me_. Not Carly, _me_. I can't believe this, this is…

"Sam." I look over at Freddie, his face dangerously close to mine. His grin is matching mine, as he brushes a strand of hair away from my face.

"Yeah?" I breathe.

"Lean in."


End file.
